The Powers That Be
by Telltales
Summary: AU. When the price of magic is as cruel as it is heavy. Only two people remember life before the curse was broken. The one person who should remember more so than most, doesn't. Emma's on the run from more than she knows. Love triangles everywhere. Love dodecahedron. Formerly "Equitem"
1. Chapter 1

Each arrow whistled by, their pointed heads making sharp sounds of protest as they sliced through bark, leaf, air. They hit everything but their bowmen's target. Even if their aim had been perfectly true, the forged iron and wood would have disintegrated before any lethal contact could be made, their fading fragments riding the resulting swell of wind to join the forest. Such was the way of magic born by nature; one always found it's way back to the other.

Were these men really the best in the land? In all the lands that were? For almost six full cycles of the moon, these 'trackers' or 'huntsmen' or whatever title they had bestowed upon themselves, had never been less than a league in tow of their prize. Even now, as the steady pursuit of hoof against earth could still be heard over that of the Rider's own mount, they grew no closer to accomplishing their goal.

What was that phrase? 'Never send a man to do a woman's job'? In this case, not even a posse of nine-strong could do the job. Granted, they had came close on more than one occasion, though it was debatable as to whether they should be given credit for that. Those instances could be largely blamed on the recklessness of their bounty and a tendency to relish in the spoils of the chase; plentiful one-night-encounters, bountiful feasts and ale, predominantly the ale.

Yes, it was through no fault nor skill of their own that they had ever came within spitting distance of the Rider, though today was the closest they'd managed yet. So close, that the hairs on the back of every neck stood on end, some out of fear, excitement, dread and hope, others out of exhilaration and a certain buzz that came with having pure power at your service.

It was about time the services of that power were humbly accepted.

The borderline desperate bellows of 'halt!' and 'stop at once!' were met with an echoing laughter that danced around the ears of the tracking hunters, whose steeds calmed at the sound and slowly stopped in their tracks, gently huffing as they ignored the bewildered urges of their riders, the incessant kicks to their flanks doing nothing to encourage them to move.

The Rider smirked from high in a tree who had aged so. Her branches hunched over like the back of an elder, almost meeting her neighbour opposite to form a friendly arch over the road. The Rider could perch in the peak of that arch and be sat exactly above the armoured imbeciles. The need to move was unnecessary however; the view was already as accommodating as it was amusing.

"Where did she go?" one of the men asked, the timbre of his gruff voice sounding as though he couldn't decide whether to exclaim loudly in confusion or whisper in fear. The mid-point sounded like an over the top stage-whisper so comical, that the Rider clung to the branch above to ward off the threatening shakes of laughter.

"She?" another spat, clinging and tugging on his reins to no avail. "That was no female! That was a Woodland Mage, Green Cloak! I've heard of them! We've been following the wrong per-"

"No! Are you colour blind?" one near the back cut in, shrunk in so closely to the white of his mount's mane that he almost ate it when he spoke. "That wasn't even a cloak, you fool!" the white stallion below him seemed to move of her own accord into the space the Rider had mystically vacated just moments ago.

The man craned out his neck to sniff the air around him, and though he didn't seem repulsed by the lingering scent of pine and lavender, he still sunk back into the horse's hair, the helmet rattling on his head with the sudden jerk of the movement.

"Exactly, it was a coat! We all saw it!" called another, not before he could be cut off by a stronger, more even voice. This one wasn't scared in the slightest. If he was, he was excellent at hiding it.

"And I saw the shock of blonde beneath that hood, I am sure of it."

This man dismounted his beautiful black mare, boots hitting the earth with a resounding thunk. The fact that he'd spoken alone had caused the scared mumblings of the others to cease abruptly. So this was the leader of the party? Interesting. Every eye was trained on him as he rested a hand on the hilt of his sword, looking down as he studied hoof tracks which seemed to just end.

"Oh yes," he continued, even kneeling down to press his fingers into the grooves left by his prey's mount. "It was Swan, alright."

Suddenly, he was on his feet, his eyes turning skyward to rake across the branches above his head, the trees which lined the road. Emma flinched, though whether it was from the surprise of hearing her name on unfamiliar lips or the tracker's sudden movements, she didn't know. Even knowing that should any of their eyes pass over her exact spot, they would only see greenery and branches, she still stiffened.

The time for laughter was over, she had to remind herself on a daily basis that this was life or death. More specifically it was _her_ life or death. She wouldn't kill these men. What if they had partners and children to return to? The same could be said for her, so she knew what it meant. No, she'd toy with them all she wanted, maybe even send them on their way with a painful reminder of their failure, but nothing too serious.

"Emma Swan," the leader of the troop called out. He said it in a certain way, it almost sounded like a challenge. A smug one, at that. Like his knowledge of her name was power that he held over her. In many ways it was. She didn't introduce herself as Swan any more. To those who knew of her, she was 'Rider' now, by name and by nature. (Sometimes even with a 'The' in front). A name she hadn't chosen for herself, but one that had settled nonetheless.

Rolling her eyes, she let her weight fall backwards. She felt the smooth and curved bark of the branch roll across her back before she caught herself, falling to the ground with more grace than she ever thought she'd be able to muster.

She landed on the collective gasps of the guards almost like a cushion. Soft, painless and comforting. It was nice to hear that her mere presence still struck fear into the beings of men renowned for finding, hunting and killing without fail nor remorse. Whether or not that was morally a good thing, she wasn't sure.

"Hello, boys," she acknowledged with a raise of her hand, palm outstretched as though she were a warden. With a pulse of her fingers, the weapons that every man had reached for at once fell uselessly to the ground. Mechanisms in crossbows were mangled, tips of swords were bent, their blades flaking at the edges, each dagger, throwing knife and arrow followed suit, all organic materials returning from whence they came. _Quite eco-friendly, _she thought to herself with an appreciative glance, followed by the barest hint of a smile; some things just couldn't change.

She cleared her throat, trying her best to stay in character.

"It's a coat," she folded her arms, the leather adjusting accordingly as she speared the offending men with her gaze. Actually, it was more of a duster with a hood, than a coat. More country-western than medieval, but a stellar source had informed her that it was exactly her style, plus it wouldn't snag on a stray branch and choke her like a cloak would and had done in the past. She'd always dressed for functionality rather than fashion, not that it'd matter much in the end. She could beat these idiots in a corset, and those things were devices of torture if ever she'd experienced one.

"Perhaps when you scuttle back to mistress, you could request she give you lessons in how to identify the proper garment; perhaps it'd be more your speed?" she suggested, her accent lilting in the way it always did when she talked too much; she was still getting the hang of it, even after all this time. "Maybe a spot of needlework?"

Before the men could even begin to argue, their leader spoke up. They continued to shift agitatedly, their mounts still happily complying with Emma's silent request.

"Enough!" he bellowed, though he made no physical move. He seemed even more angered than he'd been to begin with; Emma hoped she'd disintegrated his favourite sword. That would be one of the many cherries atop the cake.

"Yes!" Emma agreed, matching his tone. "I've had quite enough indeed," her hands moved to her hips as she began to slowly pace across the breadth of the road, sauntering, almost. All eyes were on her, anxiously awaiting, and she had to admit that it felt good.

"Every man here knows exactly how long it has taken for you to reach this moment. And now?" She gestured theatrically to the air around her. "I practically served myself to you on a platter, yet you find yourselves rendered useless and incompetent. Once again. She will have your heads."

Emma spoke those last five words slowly, knowing that they'd need no time at all to sink in, but providing the time nonetheless. Theatrics had never been her style, nor her strong suit, but they'd worked the first time she'd needed to narrowly escape a sticky situation. Granted, this time she was just bored of running, but she'd also found that grandiose gestures seemed to have the desired effect.

"Are you suggesting we return to her? Empty handed?" this from the leader once again. He sounded almost amused, like what she'd suggested just wasn't the done thing; absurd, nonsensical. Emma could see the genuine panic behind his façade, though, and she couldn't help but feel sympathy.

She nodded. "You haven't a choice," she answered. "You cannot win."

As if to emphasize her point, Em' nodded her head just once, and the horses turned on the spot, beginning at a canter. The leader looked behind, his shoulders slumping ever-so-slightly in defeat as he watched reins tighten around the wriggling, retreating forms of his men.

"Very well." he conceded, beginning to take retreating steps after his horse. The rest of his crew had followed the bend in the road, taken out of sight. He stopped just as Emma felt a soft nudge to her back, a smile lighting her eyes as she reached up to run her fingers over a strong, smooth neck.

"Know this," his voice carried over the distance between them, eliciting a small huff of annoyance near her ear. "She will never quit, we weren't the first and we shan't be the last, you know that."

As the energy drained from Emma, retreating from her grasp, she watched as his mount paused to wait for him. After he'd settled in the saddle, he looked over his shoulder at her, calling out once again. "Come back to the Queen, Princess. It is the only way you shall truly be free, you cannot outrun her forever. Just as you cannot run from your destiny."

With that, he entered the bend at a walk, the sound of all their exits fading in seconds.

Emma Swan leaned against the stalwart animal beside her, letting his warmth and steady heartbeat ground her as it always did. She knew where she was headed, and she knew that part of what that misled man had said was correct. The two didn't go together, in fact they repelled like the same poles of two magnets.

She left anyway, continuing her journey. She would always leave, always ride.

Only two people seemed to be impervious, so perfectly content with their own lives that even Emma's dysfunctional presence couldn't make them waver. So she ran to them, full speed ahead and with that same old steely resolve. She'd conquered a curse, wielding something so powerful that she craved to have it again, and not even two of the most stubborn women on the world would stop her.


	2. Chapter 2

The Queen resisted the highly improper urge to huff out a loud sigh of agitation. Frustration, impatience, indignation. Every conceivable emotion she felt, but the one she longed to experience the most. Content.

"_Again__?_"

James sounded incredulous, almost dumbfounded as his palms hit the surface of the round table. The connection sounded with a resounding thud, rattling the sword on the surface between his hands and halting the onslaught of mumbled agreements and spurts of excuses that were undoubtedly about to flood the council chamber. Poured into that one word was all the worry and desperation that Snow herself had felt for what had quickly began to feel like an eternity. It reassured her in a way, however; it stopped that anxiously bouncing knee of hers and reminded her that although she'd been feeling alone a lot as of late, she never truly would be.

"How, pray tell, do the combined efforts of _nine _of the realm's – of _all _the realms 'finest' huntsmen and trackers fail _yet again__ t_o _hunt _and _track _a single person, hm?" he questioned, his voice laced with a snide, almost smarmy hint; Snow worriedly found that it didn't sound right on his tongue. At all.

James had risen to his feet as he spoke, the calming and concerned hand of his wife on his forearm doing nothing to halt his slow stalk around the large table, where the failed nine in question sat agitatedly.

"But Your Majesty, we _did _find her," one of the men spoke up, his words nervously tumbling from his lips as he clutched his helmet tightly in his white-knuckled grasp. "Granted, it took longer than expected," he mumbled on while others added their part.

"We even acted how you suggested, she seemed to buy it!"

"She possesses a strength of which we were not warned. We weren't prepared for it! Perhaps you underes-"

Snow sighed into her hands.

"How _dare _you!" her husband boomed, halting his advance. "How you even _dare _to assume such a thing of your King and the Princess's father is beyond me."

Snow watched his fingers run through his recently shortened hair then; even the power in James' voice was beginning to thin.

Though she could feel eyes on herself, Snow kept her concerned gaze trained on her Charming, willing him to calm himself and to think rationally. Despair in situations such as theirs often led to brash decisions.

"James," Snow drew out the name in an almost exasperated groan. Again, she was paid no regard.

"Obviously, the only thing I have been mistaken in is my overestimation of you _huntsmen_ and your competency. A mistake I will not be making again. Leave my sight."

As if on cue, the doors to the council chamber opened just as the men noisily began to gather themselves. Snow stood as they did, pulling firmly on her husband's arm. His gentle sigh of compliance elicited a sad, warm smile from Snow, her hand rubbing soothing tracks into his bicep.

"Darling," she began, keeping her voice between the two of them. "You need to stop bearing so much of the burden on your own shoulders."

When he didn't interrupt, she carried on. "Our daughter is our daughter," she provided, as though that statement of fact alone could explain away the situation. She was reassuring herself just as much as she was James. "She was born of two of the most stubborn, hard-headed people I know," her smile grew as it was reflected in James's face.

"I know, I know," his head bowed in acknowledgement.

The rest didn't need to be said. They missed her, they longed even just to see her for a moment. She continued to run and avoid them, to avoid everything. They continued to worry, despite the fact that apparently she could handle herself rather well out there alone. Better than they dared to wonder.

The tense silence of the room signalled that the men were ready to leave. Sure enough as Snow peered around James, all nine men stood in line. At least they knew respect. As they filed out of the chamber, ushered by castle guards, they bowed to Snow. She smiled despite herself, sidestepping James and acknowledging them individually as they all left. Bar one. Snow recalled that out of all the men, this one had remained silent throughout the entire meeting. Judging by the way he was regarding her, she felt as though she recognized his as the gaze she'd felt earlier.

"You'll be paid for your efforts," Snow assured him, guessing that payment was his motive for hanging behind. The scrape of wood against stone from behind told her that James had retaken his seat. Luckily.

The hunter gave a quick gracious nod which soon turned into a shake.

"I beg your pardon, my Grace, but that's not why I fell back."

"Go on," Snow encouraged, looking up at the huntsman with an inquisitive frown.

He raised his voice to include the King. "By your leave, Your Majesties, I'd like to try again. A solo mission, if you will. I think I can reach out to the Princess."

Snow felt a rush of hope and suspicion at once, as, apparently did James.

He scoffed. "And what makes you think that?" he asked, turning in his seat. Flippant, as though he was inquiring into the weather conditions for riding.

The huntsman cleared his throat before continuing, Snow's questioning gaze never leaving his face.

"I told her that she should return, and though I didn't directly mention the two of you as you instructed, I did definitely detect the conflict in her eyes."

At that, Snow couldn't contain the bubble of laughter that escaped her lips. She knew her daughter better than she suspected Emma wanted to be known by anyone, even her own mother. Perhaps the Queen simply didn't want to get her own hopes up, but she knew very well that she and James were not the only cause for the conflicted emotions of one Emma Swan. They weren't the only royals, either.  
Though Snow doubted she could ever fully understand without Emma's explanation (she doubted she'd fully understand even with an explanation), she did understand that it was never a simple matter with her daughter. The Princess, the White Knight, the Rider.

Snow looked over her shoulder to find James closer than she'd expected, his hand falling to rest intimately at the small of her back.

"What do you think?" She asked, looking up at her husband. They shared the smile of co-conspirators.

"I think," he turned his gaze to the huntsman, "that I'll wish you the best of luck, though I suspect you'll need something more."

From her angle, she could only see one side of his mouth lift into a surprisingly wild smile. Even from that angle, she could tell what was behind that smile. It wasn't the seemingly genuine humour that everyone else would see, it was a mask, and behind that lay a hope and worry so strong that Snow could almost feel it radiating in spades from the hand at her back.

"We can only wish you luck," Snow agreed, leaning into James and trying to keep her features solemn. "And thanks," she quickly added.

The huntsman bowed respectfully to both of them as he backed away. "Thank you, your highnesses. I shan't fail."

Snow nodded at the determination in the man's voice; she'd heard that same unyielding tone in both her daughter and her husband, and by that recognition, she couldn't help but put a portion of her faith into the brown-haired man.

Just as he reached the still open exit of the chamber, the King spoke up, surprising her with his words.

"Make sure you don't," he began and the man paused in his retreat. "If you return with Emma by the eve of this month's Harvest Moon festival, there'll be a place for you here in our court by way of gratitude, should you wish to accept it."

The thought of having Emma home in time for their autumn celebration had Snow's hope and excitement overriding the initial shock of her husband's offer. It would be like a 'welcome home' celebration!

The Queen turned her gaze to the hunter, whose eyes had widened considerably if only for a second. She wondered what he was thinking. Was he shocked at the King's offer? Everyone knew that places on the royal council weren't offered willy nilly; the invitee was regarded as someone whose skills could aid the kingdom, be they political, magical, horticultural, or in this case, unique. If the rumours held truth. Did he doubt his own skill? The King hadn't given him as much time as he had for the previous quest. Did he think the King had merely offered him the prestigious place as a reward because he thought the hunter would fail again? Did he think he'd be knighted?

Snow thought all this as she took steps towards the hunter, stopping short of him.

"This year the festival falls on the eleventh day of the tenth month," she reminded him should he not know, which she guessed he didn't as she watched him nod earnestly. "That gives you sixteen days. Are you quite sure you want to do this?" she asked, managing to keep the pleading tone from her voice that wanted to beg him to just hurry up and run to find her daughter.

He barely skipped a beat, absently pulling at the leather-fur pauldrons atop his shoulders.

"I'm quite certain, your Majesty. Now if you'll pardon me-"

"Yes!" James spoke up, once again coming to stand beside his wife. "Away with you. Sixteen days," he shooed, squeezing an arm around Snow's shoulders.

"Yes, your Majesty," he agreed, turning to leave just as Snow's hand grasped his forearm. James sighed impatiently at her side.

"What's your name, hunter?" she asked after having realized that she hadn't known this whole time.

"Wolfe, your Majesty. Graham Wolfe."

With that, he smiled, nodded, turned and exited the council chamber, leaving behind a suddenly very shocked and ever-increasingly hopeful King and Queen.


	3. Chapter 3

_The moon was enormous._

_A delicate shade of apricot with a silvery-red lining; it sat unusually low on the horizon. Surely it was still too early in the year for it be so large and to hang so low in the sky? From her angle, it seemed to recline comfortably between a pair of twin spires in the grounds of a grand castle, as though the towers had been built for the exact purpose of keeping the lunar beauty content._

_The nearby gentle thrum of crowds and music could be heard, as though the only thing filtering the sounds of flutes, lutes, drums and pipes, was the breast of a lover, the music was the pulse; comforting, content, peaceful and right._

_As Emma's head titled upwards, accommodating her gaze as it followed the direction in which every turret and steeple pointed towards. The stars surrounded the moon like old friends, not a cloud in the night's sky to obscure them from view. As her head lolled back on her neck, eyes closing against the light-warm breeze, Emma found herself feeling something she hadn't in the longest time. A sense of belonging. Though every fibre of her being itched and screamed for her to run back the way she'd came, her feet stayed rooted to cobble as her thoughts yanked the threads of her mind in opposite directions._

_At first, she hadn't heard the clip-clop that sounded the approach of heeled boots on stone. She didn't, at first, register the fact that her head had been suddenly supported by something other than her neck. That warmth was suddenly making it's presence known, melding into her spine and reaching around into her core. It wasn't until she felt familiar arms encircle her waist, hot palms flat against her stomach, warm breath against her hair and lips against her ear, that she even considered tearing her gaze from the ink of the sky._

_A quick flash in her mind reminded her of just exactly where she was standing; a small courtyard, sectioned off by a large wall on the other side of which she knew sat a much larger courtyard, full of dancing and celebrating people. A gathering, celebration, friends. Her vision cleared in a second._

_Why hadn't she moved? Why hadn't she taken any defensive stance, tried to free herself from the surprisingly gentle embrace? As soon as she heard that voice, she knew exactly why. It sounded far away, as close yet as untouchable as the moon herself._

_The arms tightened around her._

_"__Hello, dear. Happy to be home?"_

* * *

Embers danced into the air as a startled leg kicked out, knocking tinder and red hot rocks. Within seconds, Emma was wielding her bow, having grabbed it and an arrow from beside her in a knee-jerk reaction, handling the weapon awkwardly in her post-sleep haze.

A noise had jolted her from sleep, underbrush being shuffled, a twig being snapped underfoot some yards away from her small temporary camp. The near-dead fire provided the only light.

More seconds passed and still Emma could hear the creature advancing on her position, though by then she had already readjusted her grip on the yew of her recurve bow, rising into a kneel which was ideal for firing and rolling out of fire should the need arise.

Emma pulled the arrow back on the string just as the silhouette of a figure stepped out from behind a trunk, arms raised, though something hung from one.

"Emma? It's me, don't shoot."

The sound of the voice had Emma releasing the breath she'd been holding in relief, sinking back into the makeshift bed she'd created out of forest floor and a thin blanket, weaponry discarded.

"What has Granny told you about sleeping out in the woods alone?" Red's voice imitated her grandmother's so well that had her outline been shorter and a bit more stout, Emma would have believed it was her. "There are dangerous beings out here at night," she warned, her voice her own and lilted with that teasing tone she wore so well.

"I can see that."

Emma smiled up at Red, watching as she rounded the fire, crimson cloak billowing around her as she lowered herself into a sitting position on Emma's blanket, setting her basket in front of them both.

She glanced over at the sleeping chestnut form of her steed, Abe. _Some guard horse you are._

"You think I'm dangerous?" Red asked as she made herself comfortable, her voice lifting in seemingly genuine incredulity. That smirk told otherwise.

"Oh, I _know_ you are," Emma matched the smirk, though her eyes had refocused on the fire, stoking it and adding more firewood from the nearby stack.

A scoff sounded beside her.

"Oh, _please."_

Red had moved the bow out of her way as she'd settled down on the forest floor and she held it in both hands now as Emma watched, fingers running over the yew absently.

"With you wielding _this _you're easily the most dangerous thing out here," she lifted it slightly in a gesture. "Have you been practising? Have you improved any? It's been a while since our last session, and if I remember correctly Em', you weren't very good at all."

Emma settled back against the tree she'd been propped up against in sleep, gesturing for Red to sit next to her. The blonde couldn't help but smile at the speed of which the brunette complied, their shoulders pressed up against each other.

"If _I_ remember correctly _Rubes_, there wasn't much in the way of teaching in that particular session."

Emma wasn't sure if it was the use of her old pet name or the mention of that particular archery lesson, but the look on Red's face had Emma pursing her lips to hold back the laughter.

Red's mouth was agape, though the corners still lifted as though she wanted to grin but was just too shocked.

Emma continued before the other woman had a chance to interject.

"I am getting better actually, but lately I haven't had to use my bow, or my sword for that matter."

The memory of those huntsmen being taken away by their loyal mounts at the request of Emma still brought a smile to her face. It wasn't so much the comical sight of them trapped in their reins that made Emma smile, it was remembering the buzz that had flown through her veins; the raw power that though borrowed, was still hers to use when she needed it. She still didn't fully understand why it responded to her the way it did, but it was exhilarating and she couldn't get enough of it.

After that small incident, she had led Abe through the woods with one destination in mind. The three women had, with the joining of hands, made it so that their small cottage could only be found if one knew exactly what one was looking for. In other words, if you didn't know of the cottage's existence or it's exact location in the wood, you could stroll past the place it sat without ever having known it was there, nor heard the laughter come from inside. It was a useful little enchantment if one didn't want to be found and ambushed.

Emma and Abe had walked until sundown, sticking to the cover of the trees. She'd thought about that last hunting party and which candidate out of many had sent them. The one with the fur at his shoulders, the leader. Where had she known him from? It seemed as though her memory was developing dark patches, as though someone had taken a flame to her psyche and burned out the faces of people she'd met in a past life. He'd regarded her differently than the rest of his party had; if they'd recognized her face, it would have been from that of a poorly recreated sketch or painting, not from personal encounters. The leader, however, seemed to know her from memory. More disturbingly, by the look in his eyes he seemed to know the inner workings of her life.

There were so many people, groups of people, who could have given the order for that latest posse to give chase. Emma didn't want to dwell on any of the possibilities; some of the faces had procured feelings of guilt, sadness, longing, and fear as they flashed through her mind. People brought with them attachments, feelings, responsibilities and duty of care that Emma had never felt comfortable bearing. Avoidance had cured her of that discomfort, but had brought about a whole new ailment of its own; loneliness. With gained relationships came the possibility to lose them. So it was a double-edged sword. A curved dagger that when thrown her way, whichever way she caught it she would always be stabbed.

As Red shifted beside her, nestling more comfortably into the crook of Emma's arm, she acknowledged that she'd take a blade for the woman any day, for her Grandmother, too. She was most definitely doomed.

They'd both been quiet for a little while now, head rested against shoulder, chin atop hooded head. It was always going to be Red who'd break the silence; the topic of conversation had sat bubbling in the silence between them, and apparently Red had deemed it just about ready.

"I hope you know what you're doing," she spoke, hugging the cloak more closely around her figure.

Emma almost smiled grimly at the fact that she had so many things that Red could be referring to. Her life was a turnstile of 'what's, all of which needed to be dealt with sooner or later. Preferably later.

"You'll have to be more specific," Emma replied, trying to keep her tone away from that of the jocular kind. She could almost hear the rolling of Red's eyes in her response.

"The magic, Emma. I hope you know what you're doing with the magic."

"Ah, that." The tone of Red's voice was beginning to spell trouble.

"Yes, that. Eight men sped through the village bound by their own reins yesterday, Emma. They were bound like that all the way down the main road. It's the talk of the town."

"All the way?" Emma couldn't mask her surprise. She hadn't thought she'd put so much energy into that particular little gag.

"Yes, all the way." Said with barely suppressed impatience. "They also glowed."

Emma laughed. "I think that perhaps the villagers were having a bit too much fun playing 'spin doctor'."

"No, Emma." The absence of warmth was met with a worry in Red's gaze as she turned in her place, hazel meeting green. "They glowed a dim jade, I saw it myself. I was at the market buying a bushel of apples for Granny when I-" she shook her head, as though mentally bringing herself back to the point. "You couldn't have been anywhere near them, Emma. I bet you were already headed in the opposite direction? The ability to sustain that kind of power even from up close is a feat in itself, but from a distance-"

"Hey, hey," Emma soothed, a frown creasing her brow at the worry in Red's eyes. She hadn't seen concern for herself in another's gaze for the longest time. It disconcerted her. "It's fine, I'm fine, see?" she searched the woman's face, smoothing down the red fabric covering her shoulders in an attempt to soothe.

"You're fine _now_," Red countered, "I'm not sure when this all manifested, but it can only get stronger, you of all people know what happens when it-"

The last thing Emma saw was the widening of Red's eyes. She'd darted forwards and pressed a fleeting kiss to red lips.

"Please," she mustered a smile, leaning back and re-assuming her position against the trunk of their shared tree, satiated by the lack of words coming from the mouth she'd just shocked into silence. "Don't you worry about me, I can handle myself."

The barest hint of a nod and Red was back in the crook of Emma's arm, cloak and blanket draped over the two of them. Emma wished she could tell Red that she knew what she was doing. When it came to the magic, she only had the smallest hints of an idea. It felt right, and that had been all she'd needed to know. Frankly, it was far too terrifying to delve any deeper into that particular cave of discovery.

As for everything else, Emma found herself ignoring it. She invited the feeling of warm breath against her hair, the softness at her back and that sultry voice in her ear. She let sleep claim her, hoping it would once again deliver her mercilessly into those familiar arms.


	4. Chapter 4

Never had there been an instance where time had been more of the essence. A huntsman takes his time, waits for the opportune moment to strike, but never does he take the time given to him for granted. He knows that each creature is gifted with the next day they see, and he knows that each gift can be given so that another life can be sustained. He knows, that time along with the terminus of life, are the only guarantees in existence. Time is unlimited, just as all life must reach its limit.

_Time is precious_, he acquiesces. It coincides with life, and so should be spent respectfully and with due regard to the happiness of loved ones and one's own contentment. Above all, it should not be spent doing the bidding of others. Life was full of choices, some given, some taken away, and some left dangling before your eyes for you to grasp at and bargain for.

She'd been waiting for him.

* * *

_The men had rode ahead of him, now free from the entanglement of their reins and free of any dignity. They were all headed back to the kingdom with their tails between their legs, returning though they had no prize. They rode at speed, and though they had no dignity and no bounty to return with, they at least had a lingering sense of honour and goodwill. They had that, even if it was the only thing they had._

_Graham, however, their elected leader, had held back. He had failed. How could he return to a loving mother and father, pining for their runaway daughter, with the news that she didn't want them? He was in no hurry to deliver that news, despite the flash he'd seen in those green eyes. _

_He and his mount had moved at a slow trot. _

_It wasn't until the rest of the hunting party had rode out of sight that she'd made her presence known._

_In the middle of the road, lilac smoke dissipating like scattered dust before he'd even fully registered what was happening. _

"_Halt," she'd ordered needlessly, already advancing on him with a cast-iron determination he'd found unnerving. _

_He shared his mare's confusion and felt her hesitate beneath him, before coming to a standstill. She'd been as startled as he'd been. Startled, but not scared. Peculiar. He knew this woman; she'd once struck fear into the hearts of everyone in the land, and she still did. For entirely different reasons. Graham hadn't seen 'merciless witch' in her eyes; he'd seen a woman who'd do anything, a woman forlorn. A Queen determined. _

"_Who are-" _

Silence, _she'd lifted her palm, effectively cutting him off. _

"_When you return to Snow White, you will convince her to let you continue the search for the princess," she'd reached his side now, glaring up at him. "It shouldn't be too difficult. Even for you."_

_He'd watched her then, pulling out a mirror of all things from the inside of her cloak. He'd looked to her perfectly sculpted hair, then back to her equally perfect face. He couldn't imagine a single strand falling out of place, less the need to check for such an occurrence. _

"_Why should I do this? The princess obviously didn't want to be hounded. She's rather good at evasion, too. What makes you think I'll succeed alone where I failed with the help of eight other-"_

_She'd raised her hand yet again, this time silencing him with the view in the mirror. What he saw made his heart palpitate. _

"_You will succeed, because should you fail, you will never see your companion again," she paused to tilt her head in absent consideration, inspecting the ornate frame of the mirror. "Well, you'll see parts of him." _

_Graham's jaw had tightened, his eyes darted around the surrounding tree line, narrowing. He'd been so enveloped in his own guilt of a failed hunt that he'd failed to notice the lack of his loyal namesake's presence. His knuckles whitened around leather. That wickedly curved smile had only further infuriated him._

"_I trust we have an understanding?" she'd said, phrasing her words as a statement of fact rather than a question for him to answer. It hung clear in the air between them that they both knew the __answer. _

"_Good," she tucked the mirror back into place, the picture of white fur and a barred enclosure fading as he watched. "Report back to this spot by the sixteenth hour. Do not be late."_

_With that, she'd smacked the horse's rear, spearing her into a canter. By the time he'd scrambled comfortably into the saddle and looked over his shoulder, not even the lilac smoke remained to signal that she'd ever been there._

* * *

It was still light by the time Graham had finally managed to exit the castle and it's surrounding town. A surprising feat given the amount of times he had been interrupted.

The first stalling had been by the men who'd joined him on the first hunt for the Rider. They had wanted to join him on a more permanent basis, as though they thought they could be some sort of hunting brigade, a band of merry men. They were ludicrous. How they'd even earned renown in their own right had been beyond him. That, coupled with the fact that he was a lone wolf had quickly ended that encounter.

Only to be met by another, this time in the form of a young boy who'd stepped in the way just as he'd turned a corner. He looked like he belonged in the castle; the gold-trimmed, black buttoned-down tunic screamed nobility, though the knees of his riding pants and the toes of his boots were scuffed. The youngster had merely grinned up at the man, clutching a small black book to his chest, oddly bound with a spiralling metal coil. The boy had pulled out a white quill from between its pages, before hurtling back the way he'd came.

Graham had never been one to be easily shaken or off-put; he had far too much of a subdued demeanour to be so easily effected, no matter the obscurity of a situation. The day's goings-on had been a great deal more than absurd, they'd been borderline surreal. Now, the only thing of importance was his brother, locked away in the dungeon of an evil Queen. Such annoyances as an oddly grinning boy and a band of foolhardy men were to be ignored and paid no mind.

He'd made it to the road, though he wasn't certain of the time, it was still light. He was sure he'd be made aware of his punctuality.

"You're late."

As if on cue, Graham tugged his mount to a stop, searching for the voice. She stepped out from the side of the road.

"Dismount and tell me everything."

He did.

He told her about the deadline he'd been given and exactly how many days that left him with. He hesitated about divulging some of the details of the conversation, but the Queen seemed to notice right away, and one glare from her had him mentioning the offer of knighthood, the place on the council that King James had given him should he succeed in his mission.

"The Harvest Moon festival," the Queen repeated with a scoff, seemingly uninterested in the offer Graham had been given. She seemed to mull something over in her mind before continuing. "Make sure you get the Rider to that gathering. By any means at your disposal."

She began to turn away. His words paused her.

"Why? Why is it so pivotal to you that she be back with her family?"

He watched as her head turned on her shoulders. He couldn't see her eyes, but the sudden tension in her spine told him he'd hit a nerve.

"I should think, Huntsman, that your only concern should be the return of your dog to you in one piece."

"Wolf," he instinctively corrected, his gaze boring into her back as she turned away again.

"Indeed."

She'd turned on the spot then, and was gone. Graham swatted at the purple smoke now billowing around him, wondering if he had any choice other than to do as the evil queen instructed. Quickly, he realized that the luxury of choice had been taken from him along with his companion. The Queen had taken the bonds of love, attachment and relation and wielded them to her own advantage as she'd done countless times before, he had no doubt. It was the sore truth that love could be wielded as skillfully and as devastatingly as any weapon. It was the blade that hung above his head, the knife to his throat and the rope at his neck.

He would get Emma Swan, and he would get his wolf.


	5. Chapter 5

Snow White often found herself in the exact same spot at the exact same hour in every day. In the mornings she'd greet the sun, leaning against the shutters which lead out from the royal chamber and out onto a stone balcony. She'd stand there and look out over the expanse of the kingdom, at the surrounding lake and the shoreline which kept the water from the woods, no matter how hard the tide pushed with no relent. She'd do the same in the evenings as she did now, concern always blanching her features as her eyes narrowed on the forest, when even at a distance and when outlined with moonlight, it appeared menacing. Dark, dangerous, unwelcoming, expansive; a curse in itself.

Her child, though now a fully grown woman, was out there somewhere in that abyss. By herself, for all Snow knew. Emma avoided people, attachments of any kind, of that much Snow had been assured of by none other than Emma herself. Not in so many words, but the message had been loud and clear in the note. James had told her that she'd read too much into it, that Emma much like her mother and father had strong wills and a heart to match. In the beginning, he'd reassured his wife over and over again, told her that Emma would be safe, that she knew what she was doing and that she'd return in her own time, but even then Snow would find him asleep by the fire on multiple occasions with the note firmly in his grasp.

The parchment sat now in Snow's inside breast pocket as it had since the day she'd first found it. She'd take it out and read it every now and again. Sometimes she'd find it in her hand without ever remembering having reached for it, as though merely studying the blotted scrawl could bring her closer to her daughter. She retrieved the paper now, handling the worn creases like it were made from the oldest, finest silk.

_'Dearest Snow and James, _

_I feel awful, I can do this no longer. My gratitude extends far more than words can express. You have made me aware of who I am, not only to you, but to the many others who depend on you and James and who in turn, would also depend on me. I cannot do this, I feel my nature is far too indocile for such responsibilities. I am going to disappear for a while, please do not try to follow me, for I am trying to find my place. You told me once that it was there with the three of you, my family, but you must understand that I have to find where I belong on my own terms. It could very well be there with you, I know that I felt that way for a lot of the time I spent in your care, but please understand that my place is something I have to find for myself. I feel that there are so many things to discover and to reveal, even if I do not know where to begin. _

_I hope that you can learn to forgive me and try not to fret. I feel in my heart that this is what I must do._

_- E' _

Reading over the words left by her daughter every day since they'd been written had never failed to bring tears to the Queen's eyes, even now. She'd first imagined it would be a fleeting message of maybe a sentence or two in length, that writing the contents would be an experience which Emma wouldn't want to draw out. She imagined her daughter writing by candlelight in her chamber; the blotted ink in places, the shaky slanted lettering. Had she cried? Had her hands shook? Snow wasn't sure which she would have been more satisfied with, but she quickly surmised that she'd rather have Emma than her words. However heartfelt, they'd left her little comfort.

Her mind often reeled back to those first few months. They had been confusing at first, but had quickly evolved into something that had felt more natural than anything. Had the weeks leading up to Emma's arrival in the royal court not been so odd to begin with, the following months would have not been as easy to compute, of that much Snow was almost certain.

As if on cue, the centre of all that oddity bounded into Snow's chamber, loping over to her spot on the balcony with a gait as nimble as it was small.

"Snow!" he beamed, journal clutched in hand as always, with his messy brown hair beginning to hide the lobes of his ears.

"Henry," Snow welcomed the boy warmly, leaning down just in time to receive an embrace that had never failed to astonish her with it's unwavering familiarity and warmth from the very first day he'd entered their lives. "You're due a hair cut," she commented, reaching down with a finger to twirl the hair at the nape of the boy's neck, just as he hunched his shoulders reflexively and turned away to make for the chairs by the fireplace, tugging at her hand for her to follow.

"But I like it this length!" he complained as he landed in the seat, Snow lowering herself into the chair opposite. "Did you ask for all the guards to start calling me names?" he segued, ignoring her slight look of concern and barely giving time for her to answer. "'_Young_ Master Henry' and '_young_ Prince Henry'" he mocked, rousing a giggle from Snow; she recognized the voices of the specific guards he was impersonating, even in his high pitch. "I'm nearly twelve!"

Snow had to laugh then, her hands folding over the creases of her gown as she made herself comfortable. Although she was already curious as to the reason for his visit, she found herself revelling in the boy himself. He was so alike Emma in his mannerisms; from the way both of their voices hitched in tone when they argued a passionate point, to the way their lips turned down when they were displeased. Hadn't Henry informed the King and Queen of Emma's identity before she'd arrived, the similarities alone would have had Snow inclined to believe they were related. There were other influences, slight but undeniable; an incline of the eyebrow and a scoff here or there, but Snow couldn't put her finger on them, however familiar they seemed.

"I know, darling, it's just their way of showing you respect. The same way they call James and I 'your highness' or 'your majesty'."

The boy looked somewhat placated, yet Snow could tell from the way he picked at the corners of his journal that something else was on his mind. There always seemed to be. Snow had quickly noticed that for one so young, Henry seemed to have many troubles. Though he also appeared to have a sharp mind to match, Snow couldn't help but worry, especially since the words of which his mind produced were often scarily accurate and laden with a depth of knowledge which, logic dictated, one so young and extraordinary should not possess.

Snow let a few more moments of silence pass before she spoke again, her concern mounting.

"What's wrong, love?" she asked, leaning slightly forwards in her seat, "have you more questions about today's session?"

She thought back to earlier in the day as the youngster shook his head; she had been teaching Henry personally per his request, about the different creatures and species of the realm, as well as the surrounding kingdoms and their rulers. Today he had seemed more eager than usual, but had grown distracted and reserved, listening intently only to end the session with a barrage of questions, hastily jotting her responses down into his thick journal.

He shook his head, thumbing through the pages habitually. "It's been six months," his voice had dulled in volume, but only slightly, "I thought she'd remember, I thought she'd be back by now," he admitted, his eyes narrowing at the pages of his journal as they turned by.

Snow felt her heart break for the boy then, and she reached forward to gently rub his shoulder. The gestures had become so natural that she barely thought twice about them anymore.

In the weeks before Emma had arrived, Henry had explained to an understandably shocked King and Queen everything about Emma's direct relation to them, and to him in turn. At first, the poor boy had been met by suspicion, speculation and doubt, if not a slight bit of fear. After all, he'd been found descending a wooden staircase that led up to the highest heights of the castle, unexplored mainly due to their irrelevance; everything important lay at the heart of the castle, everything else was admittedly just for show. When the oddly dressed boy had been found already within castle walls with nothing but his journal, he'd been taken directly to the King and Queen for questioning, surpassing even the highest head of the royal guard due to the mere peculiarity of the circumstance.

Snow felt heat surge behind her eyes at the remembrance; an obviously frightened yet determined young Henry, the initial shock at the news, then the eventual jubilation of meeting a long lost grandson with a long lost daughter promised to return. It had felt as though two dormant yet gaping holes in her heart had suddenly flared and filled with warmth, purpose and meaning. Although large sectors of times past were hazy for James and Snow both, once the initial shock had subsided they could not be anything but certain that their Henry had been the genuine article. She remembered herself and James in bed that same night, far too jubilant for sleep, talking about how even Henry resembled them both in ways and how they couldn't wait to meet their daughter, though waiting was something they had been prepared to do.

"She will be back, Henry, in her own time," Snow tried her best to reassure her grandson, tugging lightly on his hand for him to climb onto her lap. He complied with little hesitation, easily sliding up onto Snow's knee with his head resting comfortably into the crook of her neck.

He surprised her by saying, "it has to be soon."

She craned her neck to read his eyes, but his head was still lowered, still trained on his journal.

"Why is that?" she asked, though somewhere deep down she felt as though she already knew the answer.

"Something bad is gonna happen, I just know it," he continued without missing a beat, "and if we're not _all_ here _together_ when it does, if she ignores the huntsman, then..."

If Snow hadn't already been enthralled, if not only by her young grandson's ominous tone, then she surely was by this point. The sense of dread that had been lingering, laying in waiting at the pit of her stomach was beginning to creep up her throat, bringing with it all the darkened worry and menace of the woods tenfold.

"Then what?" she found herself asking in a murmur.

The way Henry clung to his grandmother then spoke volumes, his silence screeching even louder in the quiet bedchamber. As Snow tightened her arms around her grandson, she could only hope that his mother – her only daughter – would see the light sooner rather than later, before all their worst fears were realized.

* * *

"She is of the woods, milady. I need not remind you that they are a realm of their own-"

"No," resounded the clipped tone of the Queen, "you needn't, yet you persist in doing so."

Regina's heeled boots wore a tormented path into the stone floor before that blasted mirror of hers, pacing as she often did when in deep thought. The white wolf with the odd eyes watched her silently from it's place in the cage at the far end of the atrium. Few things could perturb the Queen; being under the stoic scrutiny of a huntsman's inscrutable companion was beginning to do just that.

"Forgive me your majesty, I was simply reiterating the facts."

She had already visited many a different avenue in her mind's path, most of which had been met by infuriating obstructions, halting her progress in unfathomable and uncannily precise ways. She did not possess foresight, only an imagination which tended to conjure the most unsettling of images. The Queen had involved the Genie mainly because he was the only one of her court with an ounce of knowledge and resource, other than herself.

She nodded and widely gestured an arm at his words, bringing her hand back up to her chin, fingers pulling at her bottom lip in not so slight agitation.

The Genie took that as a cue to continue. Though they'd been over the facts two-dozen times that evening, Regina wouldn't stop until a way was found. Plus, new information had been recently brought to light.

"From what the informants can surmise, Rider's abilities began to manifest from the moment she arrived in the wood and have only flourished since, though the informants were unable to discover how the abilities fared away from their source in the short stint she spent with the King and Queen. She never left castle grounds for the duration."

Regina paused in her gait then, rubbing at her jaw in thought. She would pride herself on never missing a beat, on being aware of everything - she had the mirror to help with that – yet she still felt as though something obvious was staring her squarely in the face.

"Yes yes," she annunciated with a flick of the wrist, growing tiresome of hearing the same information over and over and having nothing new to counter it with.

"So we don't know whether or not her powers dulled at all during her stay with Snow," she continued, more to herself than to the mirror; he seemed to know not to interrupt her, "but we do know that after a mere six cycles of the moon, her affinities have strengthened somewhat."

"They've strengthened e_xponentially_, my Queen,"

Just as Regina prepared a glare for the Genie and his disruptive correction, his face faded into a scene. Eight men rode through the middle of a small village with their reins binding their arms to their sides, the strength of their thighs clinging to the flanks of their steeds undoubtedly being the only thing to keep them mounted. The most curious thing, however, was the unmistakable iridescent jade glow that lightly emanated from them. It was as obstructive to her plans as it was appealing.

Regina hadn't expected the slow smile that lifted her lips as the scene faded, her arms falling into a comfortable crossing beneath her bosom.

"Well, well, well. Miss Swan," she said to herself, and even her words sounded as though they'd been shaped by her smile. Regina had suspected as much, to see it with her own eyes, however, was another experience altogether. _Rather erotic_, should she be frank, to witness the power of her ex-adversary first hand. She could already envisage the newfangled fun they could have, granted things went to plan.

"Exponential indeed."

The smirk adorning the Queen's lips didn't fade even as the Genie's image did, his resurfacing features not even succeeding to shake her mental images.

"Your majesty, you must remember some things."

As if she could forget.

When Regina only responded by way of an incline of the head, the Genie continued.

"If the Huntsman brings the Rider back to Snow White and James in time for the Harvest Moon festival, if she is indeed a Green Cloak, she will once again be separated from her sanctuary, from where she is most powerful. If that should happen, the very fact that she may be a Green Cloak is the least of your worries,"

Regina didn't falter at the mention of _that_ particular title. _One obstacle at a time_. Her voice was resolute when she answered, daring not only him, but anyone to challenge her.

"And my old friends are still unwavering in their intent, I presume?"

The word 'friends' was a gross over-exaggeration, but terms such as 'mortal enemies' and 'nemesēs' were far too clichéd for Regina's tastes; she'd had enough of those to last her two lifetimes.

The Genie in the mirror nodded once, "yes, my Queen. My sources tell me that they are well aware of the festivities and plan to _interrupt_ them, shall we say. They will likely attempt to snatch the Rider. In failing _that _as I believe they shall, they will try to destroy her so that she may not be used against them in the future."

"So, they all believe that if they can't have her, no one else can?" the Queen questioned, knowing very well the answer. She'd thought very much the same way, once. Granted, with not such menacing intent.

"I believe so, your Majesty. The combined wave of your old friends will overwhelm Snow White's forces. Even should the King and Queen be forewarned, their guard will not be enough, and bar the Rider herself, it is all the protection they have."

"So it would appear," was Regina's response, that resolute tone back in her voice. One red and one black eye followed her as she moved towards the cage, picking up a slab of meat from the fire mantel and carefully sliding it through the gaps in the bars of the cage. The wolf's odd eyes never left hers even as food entered it's reach. It was as though the animal could tell what Regina was planning, and as though it approved.

"Your majesty?" sounded the Genie's questioning timbre, but Regina was already on her way through the airy walkways of the palace to her chamber, the purpose in her stride setting a determined curve on her lips.

"Gather everyone, keep an eye on the wolf," she commanded of the head which followed her by means of every reflective surface, of which Regina kept a lot.

"We have a festival to prepare for."


	6. Chapter 6

"Emma?"

The voice carried to Emma as though amplified by the wind itself. It was Red's, and it sounded as though she was perched beside Emma at her place high in the tree, not some hundred paces away back at the makeshift camp they'd spent the past two nights at. (According to Red, they were only half a day's trek from Granny's cottage now, and it was a good thing, too. Emma thought the world of the girl, but she was a very... animated travel companion).

By no means had Emma found the tallest tree in the wood to scale, and by no means did it offer her the most efficient vantage point, but it was as good a tree as any and something had told her to stop specifically at it's partly hollowed trunk. Call it intuition, a gut feeling, or an urging from the wood itself; whatever it had been, it had Emma clinging to the thin branches at its tallest point with only the lightest of breezes to keep her company.

The dream from the previous night had replayed over and over in Emma's mind, slowing down at some parts, honing in on others. Never had she undergone a dream so vivid. Emma had experienced dreams in which she was struggling in deep waters, lengths from shore with no choice but to swim for her life; dreams with peculiar voices and sounds, high-pitched wails and mechanical roars.

More recently, the dreams had centered on a certain stranger, déjà vu; ecstasy and confusion had all played equal parts in the scenarios, the identity of the one with the starring role was never fully revealed. Nothing but her arms, her cent, and that intoxicating voice – yes, Emma was certain the dream walker was female – one she was fairly certain she'd never met in person. One would surely remember such a voice, such a scent, both full bodied and inviting.

Even in her dream she'd felt the voice coil like a snake around her neck, sending shivers down her spine. The walker's words were only ever scarce, yet filled with such unnerving familiarity that Emma dared not dwell on them too long in her waking hours, however tempted she found herself. Anything so capable of eliciting such strong reactions from her subconscious, her baser desires, was surely only a thing of dreams, a being that only the vast and vividness of dreamland could conjure.

"Emma!" Red's voice was closer now, more impatient than it was annoyed, "will you get down here? I told Granny I'd have you back by sunrise _this morning_. She'll be on the warpath! What are you even doing up there anyway?"

Emma looked down from her perch atop the thin branches, she could only just see the flash of that red cloak through dark wood and the varying hues of green.

"I'm scouting" she called in a dry reply, as though it was the most obvious conclusion to be drawn.

"Liar," Red answered instantly, her voice rising in both volume and impatience. "You're such a child; you saw a tree and you climbed it, it's as simple as that. Now come on, you nymph!"

The view was green, panoramic, with the blue of a large body of water beyond the forest in the south, as far as the eye could see. She could see no roads from this particular perch, trees obscured them from view as they did with everything else that lay beneath the canopy. Red had called her out correctly; she hadn't been scouting, she'd simply felt the urge to climb. If that was childish, then so be it. She was grateful for any instance in which she didn't have to look over her shoulder every five paces.

Moments of silence from Red told Emma that she was waiting at the trunk of the tree, tapping her foot most likely, a pointed lack of conversation to follow as she marched the runaway back to Granny's. Emma wouldn't be surprised to find Abe already there, if not only to avoid the risk of missing out on the sugar canes, carrots and apples from Mrs. Lucas.

The following few moments of silence alone would have been enough to alert Emma to the fact that something was off. Red rarely went long without saying something, even if she was trying to prove a point with her muteness. The bubbly girl always had something to point out, a retort of some description on hand. So when yet another minute passed without so much as an impatient huff from Red, Emma began a swift and silent descent from the heights.

The atmosphere grew ever thick as she closed the distance between herself and the forest floor, cloying hotter around her ears the closer she got to the ground. Emma drifted down through the leafy canopy, effortlessly manoeuvring over and around branches until one word from Red halted her descent.

At around two-thirds of the way down the body of the tree, Emma paused at the sound of her name carried to her in Red's voice, though the voice that had long since become acquainted with her ears met them this time with obscurity, shrouded in a hood of foreboding and warning of which Emma never thought she'd hear from happy-go-lucky Red.

She could feel it now, all around the tree in which Emma stood and Red seemingly stood guard of. Now that she could feel the full propinquity of the intruders, Emma wondered how on earth she could have missed them in the first place. Surely from her place atop the tree, their collective auras should have shone like the dark black beacons she could sense now. Their presence was unwelcome in the wood, of that much Emma could certainly feel in the wave of unease in the air around them. How could something so inherently unnatural have beeen so easily masked from nature itself?

"Emma..."

It was Red's voice again, this time with an increasing note of restrained alarm which sounded to be forced through clenched jaws.

Emma wasted no time. The balls of her feet met the brushwood beside Red with a reverberating thump, the earth seeming to shift to accommodate her. She'd landed some ways to the left of the brunette, whose cloak was hanging from only one shoulder, looking as though Red was preparing to let it drop in an instant.

Emma could almost see the dark-haired girl's skin thrumming in anticipation.

"Easy" Emma hushed, as though soothing a spooked animal. She took a careful sidestep to lay a palm over the shoulder still covered in red, as though she could hold the fabric in place should Red not stand to wait any longer.

"What are they?" Red's lowered voice was almost monotonous, flat and determined, battle ready. Emma's hand stayed put. She didn't have an answer to that question just yet.

The trees in the surrounding wood were very much alike. No two trees were the same, just as no two people were, but the trees of the Enchanted Forest were all hulking brutes, ten men wide and hundreds tall. In their current spot in the woods, the trees surrounding the women were spaced no more than a few long strides apart, creating a dense crowd that even in the encroaching light of dawn cast shadows in all directions.

The shadows proved effective spots to shroud someone from complete view. Emma could feel the intruders, only she couldn't see them. All of them, anyway. She watched as they moved in the shadows. They didn't dart about, they slithered with a grace that no looming figure should possess. They were huge, of this much Emma could sense.

Red could, too; Emma could feel her quiver in trepidation beneath her fingers. Or was it Emma herself quivering?

"Reveal yourself" she commanded with a steadying breath, taking a step forward with her flat palms held parallel to the earth.

To her surprise, she was obeyed, though the great grotesque creatures she'd been expecting weren't quite as grotesque as she'd imagined.

An average-looking man stepped out from the shadows, and although he was indeed huge, he would have been otherwise unassuming had his very presence not nauseated Emma. A lumberjack, perhaps, there was even the long haft of an axe poking over his shoulder.

His size wasn't his most notable feature. From her distance, the helm atop his head was the most peculiar thing Emma noticed. She'd seen palace guards with long white cloaks and silver-steel helms, faceless parades of men with black armor and spiked helmets. This man's had what appeared to be two short and sharp horns, dragon-like, curving back somewhat over his head before coming to pointed tips. His dark beard was clipped close to his face though his mustache obscured his mouth from view, and his dress was weathered and furred in some places, metal and armored in others and altogether bulky. It was a very cumbersome look. How this man could be the same dark and slithering presence she'd felt mere moments earlier, Emma didn't know.

Just as Emma was about to address him, the wood and bush around them shifted and neither girl needed to look around to confirm that the big man had brought friends.

"We have nothing of value" Red spoke up, and by caution of her tone alone Emma had to look over her shoulder to make sure the hood was firmly in place. If _that_ happened, she wasn't quite sure if she should fear more for Red's safety, the strangers', or her own.

Red continued. "The Royal Pass and King's Road are farther west of this spot, there's nothing for you here."

They didn't strike Emma as highwaymen or raiders. This was a hit squad. Yet another one. Emma would have been flattered if uneasiness wasn't all she could feel. She was fairly certain she could get out of this one alone. But with a Red to worry about? Emma wasn't as sure.

A low rumble of amusement sounded around them, hinting towards the numbers of this particular force. A tense knot coiled in the pit of Emma's stomach, tightening like a wound spring with every passing second. In her mind's eye, she saw the power build like that of a smithy's forged blade; from a dim orange, rising in temperature to a glowing red then onto a white-hot gleam. It was ready for her order, to be unleashed at her whim.

Emma wasn't sure exactly what would happen should she let it, but as the man took a step forward, her insides riled and she found herself incredibly eager to find out.

"Oh, I beg to differ" he said, his voice like thunder. "She's right here."

Emma had to keep her eyes trained on the brute so that they wouldn't roll in their sockets. She was growing far from tired of being sought out by those she had no idea existed, who would use her as leverage or wield her in some way. Why she was such a hot commodity, she had no idea. Princess or not, it was becoming beyond ridiculous.

"Who sent you?" Emma spoke up before Red could, positioning herself between Red and the speaker as though there weren't threats from every angle. One at a time.

"She wishes to tell you that in person."

Emma scoffed. "If that were true, I'd be speaking to her right now, not her hired goon."

"She prefers more sophisticated surroundings." He seemed perfectly calm, bar the loose edge in his keen gaze.

"And I suppose _my_ wishes are of no concern?" she retorted, caustic.

Emma thought she saw the twitch of a smile beneath his mustache as the familiar sound of steel against leather sheathes filled the tense air.

"Just put her out and let's be done with this!"

Emma heard Red turn to seek out the owner of the gruff voice that had spoken up, but Emma's gaze was still firmly locked with that of the leader. If she hadn't been busy staring down the big man, she might have missed the moment when the life drained from his left eye like a lamp being extinguished. A long feathered hunting arrow protruded from the right. She even heard the hollow 'ting' of the arrowhead as it passed through tissue to meet the metal at the back of the big man's head.

Everything happened quickly after that.


	7. Chapter 7

The bustle of movement broke out before the big man hit the ground. As impossible as it should have been, even _that_ motion seemed to speed up. Weapons were unsheathed, helms were drawn shut, and leather creaked in protest as it accommodated movement.

Emma's mind was a dissonance of thoughts at the best of times, aimless for the most part. Neither use nor ornament, especially not when her most prominent instincts were calling her to arms. Her useless thoughts this time were mainly questions, such as: who had fired the arrow? _And with such uncanny precision_. More absurdly, how had the man-mountain met the ground so quickly? He had to have been dead before he hit the earth, but surely a man of his size and stature should have fallen like a felled oak; slowly, with a groan and a creak, and a far-off warning call of _'timber!'_

Emma was aware of what was happening on some level. Often at the most inopportune moments, her inner voice would recklessly run rampant with disruptive thoughts and notions that her mouth simply couldn't keep up with, which was probably just as well. Now, however, was not one of those moments.

As Emma hopped over the fallen brute, she was relieved that the sack of stone had landed on his side and not on his back. This way, she could pull the battleaxe from it's place with a two-handed grip and send it sailing towards the vulnerable bare back of a war-hammer-wielding brute as he was about to strike at Red.

With a fleshy _thunk, _the axe found it's new home, embedded snugly between the man's shoulder blades and making him suddenly less interested in his prey.

Red, however, was the prey of no man. In a whirl of fabric and hair, she had spun at the sound of his approach and pinned him with the steely edge in her now bright hazel-gold eyes. On the off-chance that the axe in the back hadn't done the trick, Red saw to it herself that it would. With a simple yet effective jump-kick (with the aid of a sturdy low-hanging branch overhead), she avoided flailing arms and landed a double-booted blow to a meaty chest. The strike sent her already unbalanced assailant reeling backwards, landing heavily on his friend's axe in such a way that would surely cleave his spine straight down the middle, much like a fresh log for firewood.

Emma had no time to watch Red's battle unfold – her own was thundering towards her in the form of two more shrieking hulks. One brandished a thick and rusting great sword in a double grip above his head, the other swinging a wicked two-ball and chain contraption, made all the more unpleasant by the numerous spikes poking out from the iron spheres.

The spiked ball and chain (a 'flail', she thought she recognized it as) moved faster than its wielder, hurtling towards Emma's head at an alarming rate that seemed to slow down as she watched. She could hear the _whoosh _it created as it cut through the air towards her, but all Emma could seem to do was watch. She was so sure that as she watched, the merciless weapon slowed, began to even arc up and away from her, but she had no time left to find out.

She was shoved aside, landing ass first in the dirt with an _oof._ Her tongue tasted of iron as she looked up.

The stranger was a man about a head taller than she, with an ivy green cloak and various weaponry dotted about his boiled leather-clad person. He had short waved hair and a closely shorn dark beard which was – absurdly – framing a wide grin.

Dumbfounded, it was all Emma could do to sit and watch as the man sank to one knee while hefting his own sword above his head, just in time for the chain of the Flail to wrap around his blade twice in a clash of metal. With a sharp intake of breath, the stranger brought his blade down in the direction of the now unarmed man, hurling the flail at an unguarded neck and wasting no time in rolling aside. No sooner had he rolled out from the path of the tumbling (… Flailer?) did he rise in time to meet the wide blade of the great sword.  
Emma expected to hear another loud clash of steel, and apparently so did the man with the broader blade. The stranger, however, had other ideas. At the last possible second, when the momentum of the gigantic swinging sword couldn't be halted by man nor blade, (especially not the vastly thinner blade of the stranger's rapier) the stranger angled his body away to let the metal sink with a _thwick_ into the dirt rather than his head, soberingly close to Emma's left foot.

She jerked away and scrambled to her feet.

Only when the large man had been pulled forward into a bend by the sheer force of his own swing, did the green-cloaked stranger deliver his killing strike. The rapier punctured the thick throat of the brute like a hot knife through butter, while the earth collected his blood in a slowly filling puddle.

It seemed as though an age had passed while the two men were cut down, but when Emma looked up from their still bodies only to see more of their friends still very much alive, she registered that barely any time had passed at all. If anything, it felt to have slowed down in an odd trick of the mind as Emma absorbed what was happening.

The recognizable _twang_ of a bowstring snapped her to attention.

Wielding only the ornate dagger Emma had gifted her with, she saw Red standing alone against three men, surrounded on four sides. The trunk of the tree to her rear, with the men at her left, right and centre. One had just been dropped by an arrow from the stranger. When the other two turned with a start to face the source, Red was on the first one in a flash, opening his throat with her dagger while the stranger sent another arrow into the throat of the second before he could move.

The green-cloaked man drew another arrow from the quiver at his back, tilting the bow at an angle as he swept forward in a manner which Emma presumed was to check for any remaining threats. _Something_, Emma thought, _that _I_ should be doing_.

She only then began to register the uncomfortable rib-rattling pound of the heart in her chest.

"Tell me," he called to her after a few silent moments, lowering his weapon. "Do you make a habit of standing by while your friends fight your battles for you, or was this a first?"

His question was asked in a tone completely contrary to what his words insinuated, with no hint of a snide remark until he was quick to add, "Oh, I apologize; _sitting_. Nuance."

She shot him a glare that was both aggrieved and affronted. "I was only on my _ass_ because _you_ put me there, stranger."

She bit back the rest of the retort on her tongue and strode past him to where Red was standing, still and silent, and worryingly so. The crucial cloak sat as a pile of red fabric off to Emma's right. She plucked it from the ground as she reached it.

"They all stink," Emma heard her say, in that disturbingly calm monotonous way she often did after near-shifts such as these.

"Hey..." Emma leaned down into Red's line of sight, gently pulling the cloak up and around narrow shoulders. The instant change in demeanour would never cease to amaze Emma, not the fifth time she witnessed it, nor the hundredth. As soon as Red's hood was secured around her neck, the harsh feral gleam in her eyes receded to their usual hazel warmth. Her shoulders relaxed under Emma's palms, the colour returned to her cheeks, and she finally seemed to register the white-knuckle grip she had on her dagger.

She deftly turned the redwood-handle in her fingers, before leaning down to slide it into the sheath Granny had sewn into her boot (per Emma's request, as a surprise), straightened herself out, took a deep breath and said simply, "That was madness. And their blood smells funny."

Emma could only agree. With the madness part, at least. "I could have sworn I heard more-"

"I seem to have scared them off."

Both women turned to the smug sound of the stranger's voice. He beamed at them still, complacent and leaning a shoulder against a blood splattered trunk, arms crossed coolly over his chest. He looked as though he'd just won first prize in a knight's tourney with naught but a pair of Granny's knitting needles.

Emma was painfully aware that this man had in effect saved her life (regardless of whether or not she had actually _needed_ to be saved) and the knowledge was especially irksome as she regarded his broad smirk. She wanted to punch it right from his face. She would deem it her own brand of 'thanks'.

"It would appear so," Red spoke up, sounding closer to her refreshingly droll self as she approached the man. Emma followed closely behind, doing well to ignore the dead (and some still dying) bodies around them. "Who are you?" Red asked tersely, being quick to politely affirm, "So that we might thank you properly."

The man still seemed so amused, as though he were in on some secret plot the two of them weren't privy to. It was proving to irk Emma to no end. Frankly, she was surprised she'd held her tongue for so long. Perhaps it was because something about his energy was peculiarly familiar, even similar to hers, and it bothered her. Or maybe perhaps it was because she wanted to kick him.

"My name is Auggie," he began, pushing away from the tree to inspect the second death in the group of brutes, which was technically Red's to claim, despite the initial axe-throw from Emma. "I live in this forest," he claimed, then reached down to grab at the hem of his dark green cloak and gesture it at them, as though it held it's own explanation. It meant nothing to Emma. "Well, technically I have an address in the next village," he continued, "but that's mainly for appearances and when the snows fall."

They watched as Auggie crouched down to peer closely at something on the dead man's chest, only to abruptly change his mind and make his way over to the leader of the group who had been the first kill, and (judging by the identical arrows) was Auggie's to claim.

"Well, Auggie, thank you for your assistance," Red said, gracious and sounding so alike the high lords and ladies of Snow's court that Emma almost asked her for proof of her lineage right then and there.

The thought of Snow brought forth the tumbling thoughts of Henry and of her father, along with painful stabs of guilt Emma had no desire to feel. So instead, she forced her attention onto other things.

"Yeah, thanks," she managed curtly, a thought suddenly springing to mind. "I'm curious; how did you find us in the first place?"

Auggie was wrenching the distinctive horned helm from his kill, with a quiet but nasty sucking sound as the sticky blood let the helm loose. As Auggie brought it over to Emma and Red, turning it about in his hands, Emma noticed that it had what appeared to be very finely carved scales over it's plated surface, bar the horns which were smooth and tarnished.

"Well," he began, deftly flipping the helm over in his hands then catching it with dual slaps of palm against metal. "Imagine my surprise when I happened upon a lone chestnut stallion, no rider, blocking the width of the road and not so much as turning his head until I dismount and go over to him."

Emma couldn't help but smile; Abe. She looked to Red and her expression was practically identical as she looked back and shrugged.

"What?" she lifted her shoulders again, "He knows his way back better than we do. He looked hungry, so I smacked him ahead of us before I came for you. It was just as well," she gestured to the aftermath of their battle, her nose wrinkling, "he would have been minced meat if he'd waited around with us."

"Where's Abe now?" Emma asked, though she knew she needn't worry about him. For a horse, he was strangely independent yet loyal at the same time.

Auggie frowned. "The horse? I assume he's still by the road. Anyway, as I was saying, I stood right by the st- _Abe_, and there just off the road – quite expertly hidden from view, I might add – was a wagon drawn by four." Emma folded her arms and gave him a pointed look, which to her annoyance only made him smile all the more.

She wished he would get to the point of his little tale already so she and Red could be rid of him. "So I followed the tracks, heard the commotion, and fired before one of the party could strike down the damsel."

Correction: she wished she had never asked.

Rather abruptly, Emma reached for Red's elbow and gave a squeeze. This _Auggie_ obviously enjoyed the sound of his own voice, but Emma had grown tired of it soon after he'd spoken his first word.

"Yes, well, thanks again" she proffered with a quick faux smile, glad that Red seemed to have received the hint and was already walking. Of _course_, Auggie followed alongside them, the helm still in his hands.

"Aren't you curious about all of this?" He asked, using the helm to point back at the scene they'd left behind, then gesturing at the object itself.

Emma's mood was growing less and less conversational, especially with _this_ man. She wanted her horse, her spot on the rug by the fire at Granny's, and the hot stew that would be awaiting them. Red could usually sense when Emma didn't want to talk, but when she didn't speak up, Emma couldn't restrain her sigh.

"Not really, no. They weren't the first," _and they won't be the last. _

When Red shot a brief glance over her shoulder, Emma realized why the girl might have been reluctant to speak up. She was probably curious about 'all of this' herself. Why Emma had seldom stayed more than two consecutive nights at Granny's cabin, opting to camp out in the forest instead. Why every time she returned, she seemed to have fresh cuts scrapes. Why Emma had revealed her name and little else; not why she was on the run, nor the rapidly manifesting abilities, nor her purpose.

In her own defence, Emma herself knew not the answer to most of those queries, and divulging her parentage and subsequent title (and all that went with it) was the exact thing that Emma _still_ wanted to avoid. It was why she'd ventured so far from her mother's castle and the whispers of the kingdom in the first place. Apparently, whispers could travel just as far, if not farther than she.

"Reckless," Auggie pointed out simply, shoving the helm at her, pointed horns first until she took it. She was careful not to touch any of the big man's blood.

They had reached the road where stood Abe, looking up from where he'd been grazing on a tuft of grass by the roadside. Red was about to make her way over to him, when Auggie's next words halted her.

"Do you have any idea what that symbolizes?" He asked, pointing to the helm Emma now looked down at, turning it about in her hands with more attention this time.

"I thought it looked like a bull's head. Or a dragon's," Red offered, eyeing the horns warily.

"Exactly, _The_ Dragon." Auggie looked between the two of them expectantly, as though he were waiting for them to react appropriately to the news. The name meant nothing to Emma, and Red had already turned away with a flick of her hair and a click of her tongue to call over Abe. Auggie jutted out his chin in obvious impatience and sighed, snatching back the helm from Emma and gesturing for her to follow him. For some strange reason, she did so without hesitation.

"What's _The Dragon?" _She asked, after having followed Auggie along the side of the road. Em' was fairly certain that he hadn't been referring to an _actual_ dragon. She'd never seen one and was averse to believing in their existence until that changed. Emma decided to assume that it was the name of the gang they'd just cut down until she was told (or until she was shown) otherwise.

"_Who,_" Auggie corrected her.

_The Dragon was one person?_

She watched with folded arms as he pulled back the brush to reveal what appeared to be the wagon he'd mentioned earlier, as well as four cart horses who were quite obviously miffed at having been hidden and tied to the side of the road like playthings to be used at a whim. Auggie was already in the driver's seat as Emma made her way slowly over to the horses, trying her best to fill them with the now still and calm of the forest. As she reached the two grey mares in the lead, she placed a hand on the thick chains binding them to a nearby trunk and smiled to herself as they fell uselessly to the ground.

She didn't look up to see if Auggie had been watching her. "There's quite a score in the back," he said, gathering up the reins and patting the space beside him. The helm was on his lap, he patted that next. "I'll explain on the way to the village."

There came a gasp from the rear of the wagon. When Emma peered around a mare to look, she saw Red's head poking out from behind the wagon. "_'Quite a score'_ is an understatement," she said, eyes still wide, before disappearing again. Emma saw the wagon dip as Red climbed inside. "There's coin, jewels, silks. Ooh! Odd, there's a gown! _Scarlet_. It would look good on me, I would suit it. Or should I say _it_ would suit _me_?"

Emma could hear the grin in Red's muffled voice from where she stood, and she couldn't help but smile. She couldn't help but smile _while_ imagining Red in a scarlet gown.

"You can't keep it," Auggie spoke up wryly, and Emma noted that he too wore a smile.

Odd, it was, how quickly they could all go from kill squads, spilled blood and talk of dragons, to merriment and conversation.

"It's all for the village folk," he pressed.

"Well I _am_ village folk!" Red argued, and Emma could hear the presence of her pout. She was no stranger to it.

To Auggie's credit, he laughed and kept a ready hold on the reins; it seemed that he too could tell that the horses were happier and mollified and eager to move. "You look well fed and better off than most. It's nearly winter and the crops have yielded little this year, the need of the _other_ villagers is greater."

"C'mon Red," Emma urged, even though she knew Red was joking, she still had to agree with Auggie. She had passed through the village in question time enough, and she wouldn't have been surprised if the goods in the wagon were more than the town's wealth ten times over. She'd drank the sole inn dry in one night, and it hadn't taken much doing. "I'll buy you your own scarlet dress. Now will you take Abe before he starts chomping a tunnel into the earth?"

The wagon jostled again as Red jumped out, a grin plastered across her face as she took to Abe, patting his neck affectionately once she'd settled in the saddle. "Do you promise you'll get me a scarlet dress?" she pressed, sidling up to the wagon where Emma was hefting herself up into the passenger's seat.

Emma's smile came easily as she looked down at Red and Abe, reaching to ruffle the coarse hair between his soft ears. "I promise... one day I'll get you a damned red dress."

"_Scarlet_. Yay!" Red grinned up at Emma, before pulling up her hood and nudging Abe into a trot.

Auggie waited until there was space enough for the wagon to pull out, before flicking the reins and following Red's lead. After a minute or so on the road, he shifted the helm from his own lap and onto Emma's. Thankfully the blood had dried and no longer dripped.

"_The Dragon_ is one woman," he began, eyes ahead. "Maleficent. I've heard many tales, and you can never be sure which is true, or indeed if any are at all. Apparently she calls herself _'The Mistress of __All Evil'_ and lives in a castle where all her pets turn into wicked creatures, of which she sometimes sets loose to reap havoc on small towns and villages."

Emma's only reply was to regard Auggie with a mixture of mirth, disbelief and not much else. When he looked from the road to read her expression, he smiled himself, directing it back at the road.

"I know it sounds fanciful," she gave a snort at that, "but I think you'll find yourself believing in a lot more than dragons and shifting pets before long."

Emma looked to the colour of Red's cloak some ways ahead of them on the road; the brightest colour in a path of dull ash. She remembered the first time she'd bore witness to a 'shift' of Red's.

It was a month after Emma had first found Red and Granny. After four head-spinning weeks spent denying the extent of the changes in herself, she had found herself more willing to believe in the capabilities of others. Red had wanted to show her countless times in those four weeks, but certain... situations had arisen. Emma had sensed that there had been a large part of Red that didn't want to share her other side at all, and after witnessing it, she had understood why.

Red had led a seven day trek on foot into the deepest parts of the forest, far from any path worn by man. It had been the most contented Emma had ever felt, surrounded by nature and trees that seemed to grow wider and taller the deeper the two of them delved. They had stopped under the most magnificent redwood; Red said she had picked it because of it's height and the clearing of space around it. It meant that Emma could sit at a safe height in the tree, while still having a clear view of the ground below her, and in turn, of Red.

Emma remembered the scenes she'd witnessed that evening. She remembered the scenes she'd witnessed the following morning. The crack of bone and magic, the single scream that had twisted the heart in her chest, and the sobs that had broken it.

Emma looked away from the red hood and over to Auggie who was looking right back at her with concern rife in his features.

"I think you're right," was all she said.

* * *

The growing crowd of the morning market parted swiftly to the sounds of the wagon's rickety wheels bumping and clashing over the uneven cobblestones. Emma's backside felt as though it were still bumping against the hard seat even as she got to her feet, preparing to address the crowd who were already turning to face the wagon with expressions ranging from curiosity and irritation, to wariness.

Emma cleared her throat, damning her hair for its distinctively blonde unruliness while pushing it from her face. "Um..." she looked down to Red who only urged her on with a smile, holding the horses. "There's gold and wares in the wagon, have at them."

There was a still silence until Red threw open the doors of the wagon and gasps rippled through the crowd. By that time, Emma was by Red's side and had linked their arms together to make sure that Red wouldn't claw the scarlet dress from the hands of the already excited local girls.

* * *

"Smells funny."

While Auggie stayed to help evenly disperse the goods around the villagers, Emma and Red had taken to the inn to buy a crate of sweet wine from the owner. They had headed back to Granny's where they had all had their fill of stew and more than their fill of wine. Granny sat in the corner, slumped and snoring in her chair with her crossbow across her lap and half-finished knit-work at her feet. The younger women lay bunched together on the rug by the hearth, propped up against Emma's makeshift cot.

She sniffed at herself with a frown. "What do you mean?"

Following a high-pitched hiccup, Red giggled, shifted closer and said, "Not _you_. Auggie."

Wine made Emma subdued and emotional. It made Red relaxed, but at the same time chatty, and certainly _not_ subdued. She was also surprisingly articulate.

Emma made a muffled _umph _noise, which apparently Red took to mean _'please explain'_.

"_Well. _Back in the woods, the stink of those man-beasts was so overwhelming that when I wasn't talking, I was holding my breath. How you didn't smell it is beyond me."

"_Red_," the syllable stretched out of Emma's mouth. Her head was starting to ache from the wine.

"_As I was saying; _back in the woods I couldn't smell anything but odd man-beast blood, but when we were at the roadside, I could smell something else. The forest has it's scents," she explained with a slight slur, "good earthy smells. You have your smell, which is kind of like that, earthy but sweeter and tangy at the same time. He just smells like aged wood. And moss."

Emma couldn't help it, she barked out a laugh. "_Wood_, Red? _Really_?"

Red looked lost as she twisted and leaned down to search Emma's eyes. "_What_? _Em_'?"

Emma muffled her snickers in her friend's shoulder among the waves of brown. "Nothing."

"He's oaky and piney and odd," Red said, pushing half-heartedly at Emma's shoulder.

"He looked at me like he knew me. Often. It was disturbing."

Red shifted even further so that she lay on her side in the furs atop the rug, peering up through her lashes at Emma who was finishing off a bottle.

"Among all the happenings of the day, _that _was the thing to disturb you?" Her laugh was louder this time, and they both slid down further into the furs after hearing Granny stir in her chair.

Emma smiled as she placed the empty bottle down with the others, her lids heavy, "Mm, one of them."

With an exaggerated yawn, Emma wrapped herself tightly around her friend, neither caring that her face settled in Red's fair bosom. "I'm too tired to worry about the _Mistress of All Evil_ tonight," Emma said, hearing Red's childlike hum of confusion clearly in the quiet of the room.

A clatter of movement from Granny's corner was to follow, as was a loud yawn and the clicks of old joints being stretched.

"I do hope you aren't talking about me, girlie."


End file.
